


Only the Stars and I Remember

by ScottieIsImpatient



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, But whatever, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, overused plot point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:06:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27948779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScottieIsImpatient/pseuds/ScottieIsImpatient
Summary: When a freak accident leaves Malcolm with no memory, the entire crew is understandably devastated. Trip most of all, for he and Malcolm were in a relationship prior - and now Malcolm doesn't even know who he is.
Relationships: Malcolm Reed & Charles "Trip" Tucker III, Malcolm Reed/Charles "Trip" Tucker III
Comments: 26
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here we are. Diving, yet again, into another massive plot. 
> 
> Amnesia is far from a new plot point but I came up with this idea, ran with it, and it turned out I liked it. Tuckerreed was the obvious ship to use for this lmao.
> 
> I hope to update this... maybe once a week? Twice, if I find the motivation and inspiration and if college isn't hounding me. (Unlike These Late Eclipses I don't actually have this all written out. Just an outline. I hope publishing this as I go will provide me with an incentive to continue)
> 
> Excuse the weird title. I came up with it on the spot but honestly, it's very probable that I've unwittingly plagiarized it from somewhere. Oh, well. Go forth and enjoy!

Malcolm stares forlornly down at the _Enterprise_ torpedo schematics feeling utterly useless. Damn him if he ever admitted it out loud, but perhaps Phlox was right to advise a few more days off work, given that Malcolm can’t for the life of him remember if he’d already realigned the torpedoes or not. He could always ask his team, of course, but that would no doubt raise suspicions. As far as they’re concerned, their boss only picked up a small cold down on that alien planet.

With a heavy sigh, Malcolm leans his elbows against his desk and buries his face in his hands. A _small cold_ downplayed it all heavily. In actuality, the combination of alien pollen and Malcolm’s antihistamine treatments produced a rather odd effect – loss of short-term memory. Phlox could find no treatment but assured the afflicted Lieutenant and worried Captain that it was temporary.

“Temporary,” Malcolm hisses into his hands. It’s been, what, five days now? Six? The effect has surely dwindled somewhat but doesn’t seem to be showing any signs of disappearing.

Warm hands suddenly caress his shoulders, followed by a light kiss to his temple, causing Malcolm to lurch upright in a panic. Immediately, Trip backs up. “Sorry, Mal. Didn’t mean ta startle you.”

Malcolm glances through his office window, relieved to find that the few personnel in the armoury have their backs turned. “I thought I told you not to sneak up on me, Commander.”

“It’s not like anybody’s watchin’,” the Southerner drawls. “And it’s Trip, not Commander.”

“We’re still on duty. _Commander._ ” As a hurt look flashes across Trip’s face, Malcolm sighs. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, Trip, it’s just-”

“You don’t want anyone findin’ out. Yeah, I know.”

Malcolm looks down at his hands. Barring the odd glance or a quick kiss exchanged in a deserted hallway, both men have remained purely professional during working hours, something Malcolm had Trip promise when their relationship first got serious those four months ago. It’s a sore spot for each of them, for their own reasons, and often the topic of every argument they get into recently. But Malcolm doesn’t feel like arguing right now. Quickly steering the conversation away, he asks, “did I realign the torpedoes this morning?”

Trip gives him a funny look before comprehension dawns on him. “You still forgettin’ things?”

Malcolm nods sadly. “Yeah.”

“Ah, man. Well, ya did realign ‘em. Unfortunately, I still can’t find the cause of the shakin’.” Malcolm stares at him blankly so Trip attempts to elaborate. “Y’know. All the problems that’ve been happenin’ ever since we left J’Vali. The sudden lurch on the bridge three days ago-”

“Oh, right.”

Some yet to be identified engine trouble has kept _Enterprise_ at warp speed one, for anything higher causes shockwaves to rattle the ship and strange noises to spurt from the engine. They found out the hard way three days ago. The captain had just sat down after ordering warp three when the bridge bucked harshly. Only Travis and T’Pol managed to stay upright – everyone else had fallen flat on their faces.

Absentmindedly, Malcolm rubs at the spot where his right cheek impacted with his console. “Well, as long as my torpedoes don’t shift out of alignment again…”

“Hey, I’m an engineer, not a miracle worker.” Trip raises his hands in mock surrender and grins. “Anyway, I came by to ask if you’ve eaten yet.”

“What are you – my mother?”

“Jus’ yer concerned boyfriend.” Trip runs his hands down Malcolm’s arms, planting a quick kiss on his other temple this time. “C’mon. I heard Chef made this chicken dish with pineapple.”

“Pineapple,” Malcolm echoes. “Always bloody pineapple. I enjoy other foods too, you know!”

“I’m sure you do. You jus’ never share it with anyone.” Malcolm smacks his hand playfully and Trip laughs. “C’mon. I’m on break. Yer… _overdue_ for a break, damn!” he exclaims, eyes landing on the chronometer. “An’ don’t tell me yer not hungry, ‘cause we both know neither of us got a chance to eat breakfast since we were, ehm, late.”

Malcolm’s stomach answers before his mouth can even think of something to say. “Oh, alright.” He lugs himself out of his chair, pretending to be annoyed at Trip’s victorious smirk.

Trip activates the door panel and exaggerates a deep bow, letting Malcolm go first, when the comm chimes to life. “ _Almack to Commander Tucker.”_

“Damnit,” Trip hisses. Malcolm raises an eyebrow, watching his boyfriend drag himself reluctantly towards the intercom. “Tucker here. What is it?”

_“Sorry to disturb you on your break, sir, but, uh, I think we’ve found the source of the engine trouble.”_

“On my way,” Trip says into the comm. “You go on ahead, Malcolm,” he then says to the smaller man beside him. “I’ll be with ya in a sec.” But Malcolm just shakes his head and follows him out of the armoury.

“I’m as anxious to know as you are, Commander. Nothing so much as touches my torpedoes and gets away with it.”

Trip eyes him like one would a defiant child. “Fine. But we’re goin’ straight to the mess hall after, got that?”

Malcolm smirks. “Yes, sir.”

Ensign Almack is on the upper catwalk of engineering. As soon as he spots them enter, he calls out, waving his arms to get their attention. “Up here, sirs.” He leads them over to a monitor screen. Sweat-stained and dishevelled, it’s obvious he’s been here some time. “Over here.”

Trip leans forward, peering at the computer. “Huh. What d’you think, Mal?”

“It looks like one of the matter/antimatter feedback units is out of sync with the nacelles,” Malcolm observes. “That could be what’s causing the issues. And don’t call me ‘Mal’.”

Trip grins and straightens. “Great work, Ensign,” he addresses Almack. To Malcolm he says, “realigning that unit is gonna be tricky. Tell the Cap’n to put us at full stop.”

“What about lunch?” Malcolm teases as he moves towards the ladder. He doesn’t hear the response, however, for no sooner has he made it to the second rung when the ship heaves backwards, throwing him off balance and engineering into chaos.

A rather undignified squeak forces its way past Malcolm’s lips. He scrambles to regain his footing, yet the slick leather of his boots finds no grip against smooth metal, and his hands flail for something to hang on to. His fist closes around empty air. In what feels like slow motion, Malcolm realizes that he's falling.

He hits his shin against a rung on the way down. Not that he feels it. He’s too focused on the ground rushing up to meet him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I left y'all on a cliffhanger last chapter I thought I'd be nice and get this one out there sooner rather than later :)
> 
> Malcolm isn't feeling, or acting, like himself...

Five steps to the left. Turn. Five steps to the right. Turn. Five steps to the left.

“Trip, pacing is not going to speed up the process.”

Trip raises his head, blinking wearily at the Captain. Anger bubbles in his throat but the words never make it past his lips. He’s too worked up to say anything.

Archer sighs wearily. “I’m worried about him too. But he’ll pull through, I know it. Malcolm’s tough.”

“How long has Phlox been in there with him?” Trip mutters, eyes flickering over to the frosted doors. “An hour? Two?”

“Forty-two minutes.”

Trip rubs a hand against his forehead. The doctor gave him a hypospray for the headache that was starting to develop but there was nothing he could do for the heartache. _Oh, Malcolm. You better be alright._

He can’t quite forgive himself for not immediately realizing Malcolm was injured. Instead, he’d been too focused on demanding damage reports and trying not to knock himself out against a pillar. The result of the massive lurch had been another matter/antimatter unit shifting out of sync. Antimatter built up in the port nacelle, fortunately too little to cause a cascade but still serious enough to knock the entire warp engine out of commission.

Ensign Drake had been the one to find Malcolm. Ensign Drake had called Doctor Phlox. All Trip could do was stumble mutely down the ladder and collapse at the side of his lover’s broken body. Left arm twisted awkwardly; head angled slightly away. Blood pooling beneath him.

So much blood.

Trip looks down at his hands. Phlox cleaned them up when they first arrived at sickbay but he’s sure he can still feel the sticky substance on his fingers, sinking beneath his skin, contaminating his soul.

Malcolm’s blood.

Movement catches the corner of his eye and Trip forces his gaze away from his hands, coming to land on the sickbay doors instead, and Phlox behind them, fast approaching. Trip’s heart leaps. Now is the moment of truth.

Phlox’s expression does little to help him read the situation clearly. Per his usual nature, the Denobulan sports a massive grin and a twinkle in his bright blue eyes. “Gentlemen. If you would follow me.”

Trip doesn’t need to be told twice. He bolts on through, eyes darting around as they search for his lover. It doesn’t take long. Malcolm’s the only patient in sickbay, after all. Wearing a smile big enough to split his face in two, Trip stumbles forward, only half-listening to Phlox’s medical rambling.

Malcolm’s left arm has been wrapped inside a cast and is laying atop the blankets. He has lost some colour in his face, highlighting the dark circles under his eyes and bruised temple from the fall, and a large bandage encircles half his head. Trip runs his fingers through what little of the soft, dark hair is visible underneath the bandages, his other hand absentmindedly rubbing Malcolm’s good arm. _You’re alive,_ he wants to cry out. _Thank god, you’re alive._

“…fortunate there was no damage to the spine. The Lieutenant has suffered a rather severe concussion; however, I found no evidence of any other serious contusions.”

“Trip says he was bleeding a lot, Doctor,” Archer said, uncertainty evident in his tone.

“Yes, I suspect he would have.”

The upbeat tone catches Trip off-guard. Whirling around, he snaps, “and yer not worried ‘bout him?”

“In fact, I am not,” Phlox replies smoothly. “Profuse bleeding is common in head injuries among most species. You see, the human brain requires a good amount of oxygen to stay functioning. Your heart supplies-”

“Get to the point, doc,” Trip interrupts, feeling a little sick at all the talk of blood.

“There are a lot of blood vessels in your head,” Phlox finishes. “Now, as I was saying, Captain, I would like Mr. Reed to remain off-duty for at least a week…”

Trip lets the conversation fade into the background. Gently, he lifts a hand and runs his thumb down Malcolm’s cheekbone, across his lips. He wants to kiss him. He wants to kiss him badly, but he can’t, because he promised Malcolm they would keep things a secret.

Suddenly aware that the Doctor and Captain have stopped talking, Trip seizes the opportunity. “Can you wake him up?”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Archer starts, glancing at Phlox, who – for once – contradicts.

“I was actually about to do so right now,” the good doctor states with a smile. “I need him to be awake to determine if there’s any brain damage. Knowing the Lieutenant, he’ll probably take it much better if his friends are by his side.”

Trip smiles, mentally ignoring the brain damage part, and stares down at Malcolm again. Even unconscious he still looks rough, the tension in his muscles apparently there forever. _Damn it, Mal,_ Trip thinks, _when will you ever looked relaxed?_

He allows space for Phlox to administer the hypospray into Malcolm’s neck, then leans forward, eager to be the first thing those beautiful grey eyes lay on when they open. “Come on,” he coaxes as those lashes flutter, giving Malcolm’s hand another supportive squeeze.

Trip can practically see the gears in Malcolm’s head turning as he looks around. It’s certainly not the first time he’s been in sickbay, but perhaps the hit to the head is making things a little more difficult to process.

Suddenly Malcolm flings himself up into a sitting position, groaning through clenched teeth as it jostles his arm, his other hand flying from Trip’s grip. Immediately, Captain Archer lurches forward and grabs the man by his shoulders to steady him. “Easy, Malcolm. Take it easy.”

Malcolm draws in deep, shaking breaths. Finally, he manages to pry his eyes open and his gaze immediately flies to the man holding onto him. “What happened?” he hisses. “Why am I injured?”

“You fell off a ladder,” Trip provides.

Malcolm’s head flings around to stare at him, and his expression causes an uneasy feeling to stir in Trip’s gut.

“God, Mal,” Trip continues in a breathy tone. “I’m so sorry. I shoulda realized, instead’ve bein’ so engrossed with the engines…” he reaches out with the intention to pull his lover into a hug, only for Malcolm to lean away. At first Trip thinks it’s due to the public display – which, honestly, he doesn’t see how that matters right now – until the anxious words pass Malcolm’s lips.

“Where am I? Wh-who are you all?” Above the bio-bed, the heart monitor begins to beep faster. The Lieutenant’s eyes have widened to display a fear no one has ever seen on his face. “Why do I feel like I know you? What happened? What’s going on?”

If Trip also had a heart monitor linked up to him right now, it would be going crazy. “Malcolm-”

His next attempt to touch the man is foiled by a harsh slap. It stings more than just his face.

“With respect, sir,” Malcolm says, “please don’t touch me.”

It’s hard to tell which of the three onlooking men are more surprised. Trip, struggling to keep tears at bay, slowly gets to his feet and backs away, tough he can’t take his eyes off Malcolm. Phlox takes Trip’s place, muttering something which Trip can’t hear, but Malcolm’s response is loud and clear.

“No,” he snaps. “I will not be sedated. Why do you wanted me sedated? I don’t know where I am – or who you people are, for that matter!”

“Mr. Reed, I am a doctor. Please trust me when I say it would be in your best interest to cooperate.”

Malcolm gives Phlox a glare that could shoot daggers. “I don’t know what you did to me, but there is one thing I remember about myself: I do not weaken easily. Whatever you want, you won’t be getting it from me.”

 _Stubborn to a fault_ , Trip thinks. _That’s my Mal._

Then a strangled sob escapes his throat.

Malcolm’s eyes flash to him – and was that a hint of recognition in them? Trip doesn’t have time to properly evaluate this, though, for the distraction is just what Phlox needs to inject his patient with a sedative.

Captain Archer gently lowers the now unconscious Malcolm back onto the bio-bed, then walks around to Trip’s side.

“Cap’n,” Trip croaks. He’s suddenly aware of the shaking in his legs, the rapid throbbing of his heartbeat. “Permission t’ be dismissed?”

“Permission granted,” Archer accepts softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like all my sickbay scenes are the exact same lmao.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't the best quality chapter, but at least it exists.

Trip finds himself in the Captain’s mess little under a week later, mutilating his dinner as opposed to eating it. Today is Monday – a day which, to the average person, is perhaps the least special day of them all. It was to Trip as well, up until four months ago.

Monday night, four months and three weeks ago, was the night he and Malcolm shared their first kiss. Trip initiated it. When the remainder of the week was filled with awkward run-ins and stale conversations, Trip had been sure he’d ruined everything. Then Malcolm showed up at his quarters, dressed in that black turtleneck that makes Trip go crazy, stumbling over his words to apologize for the lack of communication. Trip could recall every little detail about that conversation, right up to surprise that danced in Malcolm’s eyes when Trip reassured, “I want to try this, Mal.”

Since then, Mondays have held a special place in the Commander’s heart. The two weren’t about to celebrate “weekly anniversaries” as if they were in middle school, of course, but Monday became _their_ day. Trip always had the sneaking suspicion it gave Malcolm something to look forward to in the coming week aside from new things to shoot at.

Now, Monday is back to being its least special day.

“…Trip. Earth to Trip. Are you there?”

Trip raises his head with a small grunt. Archer is staring at him, worriedly.

“You’ve barely touched the stir-fry. Are you feeling okay?”

“Jus’ not hungry,” Trip mutters. He pushes his plate away, slouching backwards. “If you don’t mind, I’m gunna get back t’ the engine.”

“Not until you’ve eaten your dinner, Commander.” Archer is putting on his patented “Captain’s Voice”, though his words are delivered more as a concerned brother. “And not until you tell me what’s on your mind.”

Trip jumps to his feet, pressing his knuckles against the table. “On my mind?” he snaps. “How ‘bout the fact that Malcolm’s still in sickbay with amnesia? He don’t remember anybody, Cap’n. Not even his own boyfriend!” The final sentence slips out before he can stop it. At least this isn’t the public mess hall.

Captain Archer blinks, draws in a deep, steady breath, and closes his eyes briefly. “Trip. Are you and Malcolm…?”

“Four months,” Trip sighs as he flops back into his chair. “We’ve been together four months.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” Any fool can see the hurt in Archer’s eyes. Trip swallows.

“Hell, I wanted to, Jon. Believe me. When we first made it serious, I wanted ta tell you like I tell you everythin’. But Malcolm, he told me ta stay quiet. I don’t think it had much ta do with how private he usually is; I think it was more the fact that yer his captain, and y’know how he is ‘bout the whole fraternization thing.”

Archer nods; a small smile dances on his lips. “That sounds like him. I had my suspicions, Trip. Especially considering the way you looked at him in sickbay.” Trip goes red. Apparently the Captain hadn’t been so distracted after all. “I just didn’t want to say anything outright, in case I was wrong, or it embarrassed either of you.”

“Cat’s outta the bag now,” Trip mumbles.

The Captain clears his throat, stands up, and walks around the table, placing a hand on Trip’s shoulder. “This must be especially hard on you. Have you been to see him?”

Trip shakes his head woefully. “I can’t. You saw how he reacted when I tried to touch him. He doesn’t even remember who I am, notta mind our relationship.”

“Phlox is saying the best thing to do right now would be remind him of who he is, see if anything comes back.”

“An’ what if it doesn’t?” Trip challenges. “When he slapped me – that hurt enough as it is. What happens if he never remembers? What if he looks at me like I’m a complete stranger?” Voice quivering, breath heaving, he whispers weakly, “what if he doesn’t love me anymore, Jon?”

“Oh, Trip…”

The realization crashes down for both of them and now Trip is a sobbing mess in his friend’s arms, soaking the shoulder of Archer’s uniform with tears. In some ways it’s worse than if Malcolm was dead. At least then, Trip would know that he went out with love still in his heart. But that empty stare of unrecognition…

“We don’t yet know if this is permanent or not,” Archer is saying. Gingerly, he takes Trip by the shoulders and leans away to look him in the eye. “Phlox says there’s a very high chance his memory will come back on its own. In fact, Travis has been helping him make some headway. He recalls some things about his life pre- _Enterprise._ ”

A spark of hope ignites. Trip bites down on his lip and sniffles. “I just… don’t think I could take it. If he really doesn’t remember who I am.”

“Then start small,” Archer urges. “Do you have any photos of you both? Anything that might jog his memory?” Slowly, Trip nods. “Take them to him. Tell him. You might be surprised at how much is buried.”

It sounds promising. Too promising. A little voice nags at the back of his mind, telling him that he’ll only be crushed further when this doesn’t work. Aw, hell, some of Malcolm’s pessimism must have rubbed off on him. He’s supposed to be the optimistic one, damnit!

“Okay,” says Trip. “I’ll try. Thanks, Jon.”

Archer pats his shoulder and smiles.

Trip never knew exactly _how_ many photos he had of he and Malcolm until he’s knee-deep in a pile of PADDS, wondering how the hell he’s supposed to narrow this down when every single photo is his favourite. He decides to start by using only photos of them together – any of just Malcolm may not have the desired effect. From there he eliminates any photos where Malcolm is not smiling. Which, he notices with a splash of pride, is rare. Malcolm always smiled when he was with Trip.

The past tense comes unwanted, unbidden. Trip’s own grin vanishes.

Eventually he does manage to pick out a few of his favourites, and he heads for sickbay with the PADD in his grip. Reaching the doors, Trip takes pause, eyeing Malcolm behind the glass. He’s sitting upright and talking with the doc, some kind of bug attached to his shoulder. He doesn’t look the least bit uncomfortable.

“Commander!” Phlox greets when the doors slide open. “What can I do for you?”

“Afternoon, doc,” Trip says tightly, trying not to get lost in Malcolm’s grey gaze. “I, uh, just wanted ta check on him, if ya don’t mind.”

Phlox offers a dismissive wave and steps back. “Oh, not at all. The Lieutenant has been making excellent progress.”

Trip nods mutely, and Phlox walks off.

An awkward silence ensues between the two remaining men. Malcolm clears his throat; Trip shifts his weight from one foot to the other. It’s Trip who speaks first.

“That don’t look particularly enjoyable, Lieutenant.” He gestures to the bug on Malcolm’s shoulder. Malcolm laughs.

“Oh, it’s alright. A tad ticklish, I suppose.”

“I know,” Trip replies, throat dry. A scene plays in his mind: a bit of foreplay one night that involved a highly immature tickle fight. “Ah, how’re you feelin’?”

Malcolm ponders this for a moment. “All in all, fairly well. Physically, that is. I must confess to some lingering anxiety from waking up in unfamiliar place, but I’ve started to feel more comfortable as of late.” He sighs. “I just wish I could get up and take a look around. This Doctor Phlox of yours – and of mine, I suppose – seems adamant that I must remain here for as long as possible.”

“It’s for your own good, Mr. Reed!” Phlox calls from across sickbay, causing Malcolm to sigh again and Trip to chuckle. Some things don’t change.

“Anyway.” Malcolm ducks his gaze suddenly and fidgets in place. “I feel I must apologize, Commander.”

Trip’s smile fades in a flash. “Ah, what?”

“I should apologize, sir,” Malcolm repeats, running a hand through his hair in an all too familiar gesture of anxiety. It’s as if a piece of the old him floats just below the surface, close enough to recognize but still too far to touch. “For slapping you. I didn’t realize, um…”

 _Oh my god,_ Trip thinks. Against his better judgement, he lets his heart soar…

“Doctor Phlox told me you were my superior, sir. I apologize for striking you like that.”

…only for it to come hurling back towards the ground, shattering into a million pieces on impact. Trip, feeling a sob beginning to form, swallows it down. It catches in his throat.

“Sir?” Malcolm inquires, eyes full of concern – but not as a lover, or even as a friend. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Trip gasps. He knows neither his tone nor his body language resembles any definition of “fine”, but he cannot trust himself not to spill the truth. It will only hurt more when Malcolm, who sees him as nothing more than a commanding officer, lets him down. No matter how gently and apologetic.

Regaining his momentum, Trip sputters, “you weren’t yerself. You didn’t know. I don’t blame ya, don’t worry.”

“Still…” but Malcolm doesn’t go on. Neither man wants to continue this conversation – each for his own reasons.

Malcolm eyes him, noticing the PADD Trip has clutched to his chest like a lifeline. “What’s that?”

“This?” Trip looks down as if he’s just remembered. “Uh…” After that earth shattering dosage of reality, he isn’t sure could handle another rejection. Malcolm doesn’t even view him as a friend now. “Nothin’. Jus’ some work.”

“I see. Urgent?”

“Ah, no.” His voice quickly becoming strained, Trip realizes there’s no way he can stick around any longer. “But I should get back down t’ engineerin’. I-I promised Lieutenant Hess I’d help her, uh, h-help her install some… upgrades.”

“Oh. Okay, sir.” Trip tells himself the disappointment in Malcolm’s expression is of his own imagination.

“Yeah. See ya around, Malcolm.”

Trip doesn’t even take a backward glance as he all but bolts from sickbay, worried Malcolm – or, god forbid, Phlox – will notice the tears in his eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession time! I do not like this fic.
> 
> That's a wonderful way to get people to continue reading.
> 
> Sorry, but I had to be honest. This was an experiment. I wanted to write something angsty but romantic, like what Tears in Solace was.
> 
> It failed.
> 
> I don't want to abandon this fic entirely, no matter how annoyed it makes me, because I know what it feels like to read a fic and then suddenly it ends with no warning. It sucks. And I didn't want to delete this either, because I know some of y'all ARE enjoying this. So I made my decision: I'm cutting back the original plot. And I'm also not gonna put as much effort into it.
> 
> Again, great way to get people to read ur works. First tell em you hate it, then tell them you're not gonna put any effort into it. Writing tips 101 with Scottie.
> 
> Yeah. If you are enjoying this, thanks for your support. If you're not, well, don't worry, pal! I'm not that happy with this either!

Word of the chief tactical officer’s condition spreads like wildfire. Once Malcolm is released, the crew are all eager to help him, whether that be showing him how to work a phase pistol again or gathering old mission logs for him to read. Malcolm accepts the offers with ease, something which stuns everyone outside of the tactical crew, for they’re not used to seeing their closed and quiet Lieutenant so outgoing.

It’s a shock for Trip as well. _Once,_ he thinks forlornly, staring across the mess hall at his ex-lover, _that kind of smile was shown only to me._

A voice tells him to stop being selfish and just eat his damn breakfast.

“Good morning, Commander.”

Trip raises his gaze in surprise at Ensign Sato’s voice. The linguist is already making herself comfortable, tray in hand and a grin on her face. Trip smiles back – at least until he notices Malcolm hovering awkwardly behind her.

“We thought you could use the company,” Hoshi explains. Something dances in her eye, something that leads Trip to believe she knows more than she’s letting on, but neither of them bring it up.

Trip clears his throat. “That’s, uh, much appreciated.”

Malcolm seats himself a little more hesitantly than Hoshi, looking everywhere except on Trip, as if worried he may turn to stone if their eyes meant. With a sinking heart, Trip realizes that it’s probably due to their exchange in sickbay a few days ago. He hasn’t exactly sought Malcolm out since then.

“So, Malcolm,” Trip begins, “have you… adjusted well?” Christ, is that his voice? He sounds like he might start crying at the drop of a hat.

“I still have much to learn, but I am thoroughly enjoying very moment of it, sir,” answers Malcolm, not noticing, or at least not addressing, the Commander’s tone. “Ensigns Mayweather and Sato have been instrumental in helping me recall some early things. Captain Archer promises to contact my family as soon as possible, so that I may talk to them and put together even more pieces of the puzzle.”

“Do you remember much ‘bout yer family?” Trip asks. _How badly they treated you?_ he wants to add, only stopped by Hoshi’s sharp look.

Malcolm sighs and shakes his head. “I only know that I have one, which is obvious, and that they are part of a navy bloodline. Quite fascinating, if I do say so. Sir.”

It’s that hasty address of formality, accompanied by a slight flush in Malcolm’s cheeks, that softens some of the walls Trip has built around his heart. “Malcolm,” he starts softly, reaching across the table, “we’re friends. I know you don’t remember, but you _used_ to call me Trip.” Damn, he certainly didn’t mean to add that hint of hostility, but it comes anyway.

The Lieutenant’s face grows even redder as Trip’s hand rests atop his own. “W-with respect, sir, I’ve not even adjusted to my friendships with the lower ranks, never mind superior officers.” He flashes an apologetic gaze to Hoshi, then back up to Trip. “Perhaps at a more appropriate time, we can arrange a… some sort meeting. Until then-” Malcolm slides his hand down into his lap “-might I ask we keep things professional?”

Trip feels like he may as well have been punched in the gut. Twice. By a Klingon warrior.

“No problem, Malcolm,” he says eventually, struggling to keep his voice level. “But ‘meeting’ makes it sound too formal. Tell ya what: I gotta couple o’ beers stashed in my quarters. Tonight, 2100 hours?”

Malcolm shifts in his seat. “Erm… I don’t know, sir.”

“Oh, go on, Malcolm.” Hoshi gives the anxious Lieutenant a nudge. “We’re not all that uppity on this ship, not even the superior officers. Even T’Pol ‘lets loose’ sometimes.”

Trip blinks. “Hoshi, I have two questions. How do you know that, and what does T’Pol’s idea of ‘letting loose’ look like?”

Hoshi only shrugs, a sly smile playing on her lips. “I’m afraid I have bridge duty now, boys. Play nice. Oh, and Commander, Lieutenant Hess called the bridge asking after you.”

“Thanks, Hosh.” _Please don’t leave,_ he adds in his mind. Unfortunately, as good a linguist as she is, telepathy is not one of her skills. She offers a smile to each man before disappearing with a flick of her dark ponytail. Trip turns back to Malcolm who somehow looks even _more_ uncomfortable. Neither of them, it seems, particularly want to be there. Trip’s beginning to regret his earlier invitation. “So, have you been down to the armoury yet?” he ventures.

Hesitantly, Malcolm nods. “It struck a chord somewhere, but I still can’t remember anything of significance.”

“But you said you can remember some things?”

“Yes, I believe I can. Doctor Phlox and Subcommander T’Pol have been teaching me some exercises that are supposed help ‘calm my mind’. I’m quite skeptical, honestly.”

“You never did follow the doc’s instructions all that much,” Trip comments with a smirk.

Malcolm furrows his brow, frowning. “Really? That seems rather counterproductive.” His gaze softens once more. “Then again, it rings a bell.”

“Told ya,” Trip remarks, then goes to say more but is interrupted by the chirp of his communicator.

_“Hess to Commander Tucker.”_

Right. Hoshi mentioned this. “Tucker.”

_“Sorry to comm you on your lunch break, Commander, but I was hopping you could come down here and check something out. There’s some odd readings from the new matter/antimatter conversion units.”_

“Serious?”

_“Fortunately, no, sir. Not yet at least.”_

“Got it. On my way.” Trip snaps his communicator shut and stands up so abruptly it startles Malcolm out of whatever land he was lost in.

“Sir?” the Lieutenant says in an inquisitive tone.

Trip gives him an apologetic smile, hoping it looks genuine. “Sorry, Malcolm. Duty calls.” As he rounds the table, he habitually leans down to kiss Malcolm’s temple, only just managing to stop himself at the last minute. He turns it into a hug, albeit an awkward one. He doesn’t need to look at Malcolm’s expression to know exactly what the man thinks of the touch. The tensing of his muscles is answer enough.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: a couple of horny men and implied sex. All 100% consensual.
> 
> I didn't, like. Actually write it all out in detail. I'm asexual and that stuff??? Has no appeal to me??? But since I'm such an angst-obsessed writer I thought I'd try for something different.

Trip’s doorbell chimes at exactly 2100 hours that night. Trip mentally chastises himself, of course, even without his memory, Malcolm would be punctual. He finishes making his bed (for reasons unknown. He hasn’t done such a thing in weeks) and hollers, “come in!” to his expected guest.

The door remains shut. Frowning, Trip wonders if it’s stuck and goes to open it.

Malcolm is standing in the hallway with his hands clasped behind his back, his expression obviously struggling to stay neutral. “Did ya not hear me say ‘come in’?” Trip inquires.

Malcolm shuffles awkwardly. “Er, I did sir.”

“Then why didn’t ya come in?”

“I didn’t want to… it didn’t feel right, sir.”

Trip has half a mind to smack his lover upside the head. “Jesus, Malcolm, yer not on duty anymore!” He steps back to allow Malcolm into his quarters, running a hand through his hair. “This is jus’ the two of us drinkin’ alcohol and talking. Nothin’ formal about it.”

“Quite right, sir,” says Malcolm, in a tone that indicates he thinks just the opposite.

Trip huffs through his nose, shuts the door, and grabs the beers from where they’re sitting on the desk. “I even cleaned up for yer visit, Malcolm.”

Malcolm blinks; he doesn’t say anything. Trip feels his frustration begin to boil. He spent god knows _how_ long knocking down this man’s walls and now they’re erect again.

_Not an appropriate word,_ Trip thinks as he’s suddenly aware of another item which has erected.

“Uh… well, sit!” Trip blurts, all too loudly. “I told you we’re friends, Mal. You can tell me anythin’.” He hands a beer to Malcolm, who looks at it as if it would bite him.

“Oh. Th-thank you, sir.”

The room grows silent. Optimism slowly fading away, Trip wracks his brain for conversation topics. Finally, he lands on one which should stay relatively neutral. “So… are you still obsessed with weapons?”

Malcolm’s eyes grow wide. “I beg your pardon?”

“Yer weapons.” Trip takes a sip of beer. “They were like yer babies before… well, what happened. Wouldn’t even let me lay a hand on one ‘til you were sure I wouldn’t take it apart.”

Much to Trip’s surprise, the corners of Malcolm’s mouth quirk upwards. _Oh, god, I was lookin’ at his mouth._

“That rings a bell, actually.” Malcolm starts to visibly relax. He perches on the edge of Trip’s desk chair, staring over the Commander’s head, while Trip fidgets on the bed. “And to answer your question, yes, I believe I may be regaining my apparent _obsession_ with the weaponry this ship has. It’s been a pleasure to learn – or, I suppose, _re_ learn – how everything works. And the Armoury and Security staff have been a great help.”

“Yer the talk of the ship, y’know,” Trip comments. “They’re so used to the reserved, rule-abiding Lieutenant, they don’t know what to make of this… new you.”

Malcolm chuckles. “Do they really? I guess I’m flattered.”

“Ta be honest, _I_ don’t know what ta make of this new you, either,” Trip stammers without meaning to. He can feel Malcolm’s eyes on him, but Trip doesn’t raise his gaze to meet them. He stares down at the beer in his hands (when the hell did he finish it all?) and keeps rambling like a train without brakes.

“It’s kinda strange seein’ you wanderin’ about so carefree. It took forever ta finally get ya to talk to anyone like they were people instead of subordinates and superiors, an’ even then it was a small circle. It’s a bit disconcerting seeing you all outgoin’ like this. I’m not sure what to make of it.”

All the air in the room is sucked away, leaving them in a cold space. Trip shivers, though he knows it’s all in his head.

“Oh. Commander-”

“Ah, don’t worry!” Trip’s head snaps up and, forcing a grin, he waves a dismissive hand. “That was jus’ me ramblin’ to myself. It’s a bit difficult, y’know? Seein’ the man I lo… the man I called my friend actin’ so different from who I know.” He mentally sighs in relief. _That was close._

Still, though, he doesn’t dare even glance in Malcolm’s direction.

“Anyway, enough about me. I was kinda hopin’ ta hear from you, how yer-”

Suddenly he’s cut off by a pair of soft lips against his own. The touch, while barely there, sends a million electric sparks down his spine, and he doesn’t even realize when Malcolm pulls back, for the weight of the touch still lingers. The Lieutenant’s eyes are half-lidded, almost like he’s caught in a trance.

Trip drags himself back to the present, staring at Malcolm with wide, blue eyes. His throat has gone dry, his entire body is numb. “M-mal…”

“I am _so_ sorry, Commander.” The cloudy bliss in Malcolm’s eyes vanishes and he yanks himself back, catching his leg on the desk chair and nearly falling on his behind in the process. “I-I don’t- I didn’t mean- I’ll leave now.”

“Wait… wait, Malcolm!” Trip lurches to his feet and grabs Malcolm by the collar of his uniform, pulling them close, pressing their lips together once more in a rougher, more needy kiss. Malcolm’s muscles tense and for one horrifying moment Trip is worried he’s going to break away, and then the Brit all but melts in his arms.

Neither of them recalls how they managed to squirm and wriggle their way onto the bed. Limbs grow minds of their own and hands wander to touch. Trip’s slightly calloused hands eagerly explore known territory, while Malcolm is content to take his time, refamiliarizing himself with the man lying on top of him.

Fabric ruffles; zippers are undone. Skin against skin. Moans interrupt gasping, shallow breaths.

Suddenly it all comes to a halt. Malcolm’s hands fly up and touch Trip’s chest, but in a movement to push him away instead of caressing. Trip obliges rather reluctantly and stares into his lover’s grey eyes – they’re virtually all black now, his pupils dilated.

“Is this okay?” Malcolm breathes. “I mean, what we’re doing-”

Trip resists the urge to roll his eyes and shuts Malcolm up with a kiss. “It’s more than okay,” he promises in a low, husky whisper. “It’s heav’n. Just let yerself go, Mal. I got ya.”

Malcolm, the ever obedient soldier, complies.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got wAY smuttier than I intended. I don't know how it happened. I'm an angst writer, goddamnit!
> 
> It's nothing too graphic again. No straight PWP (bc how do ppl write those?? like???), just two dudes bein' horny. And kinda fluffy. 
> 
> Tbh I don't think I did too bad. I know how Everything works, at least. It's just a matter of forcing the sex-repulsed side of my brain out of existence for a while.
> 
> Uh, yeah. TMI? Whatever. Enjoy the fic!

The first thing he’s aware of when he drifts sluggishly back into consciousness is the weight against his chest. It’s not enough to restrict his breathing entirely but it’s still rather uncomfortable. Trip groans and raises an arm to try and push the thing off him, surprised when his hand contacts warm, bare skin. The thing on his chest moans – a decidedly human sound.

Still half asleep, Trip pries one eye open, then the other, letting his gaze focus before he flicks it downwards.

The thing on his chest, as it turns out, is Malcolm. A very naked Malcolm.

 _Oh,_ says his mind.

Then it all comes rushing back.

“Oh,” says Trip. He sounds much too apathetic for this kind of situation, so he tries again. “ _Oh._ ”

Malcolm moans again and snuggles into Trip’s collarbone. His right leg, which is intertwined with Trip’s, creates friction in a place he’d rather not have friction right now. He mumbles something inaudible against Trip’s neck.

“Oh,” says Trip for a third time.

The slight noise rouses his sleeping lover. Malcolm hums curiously as he lifts his head, his dark hair all mused and his eyes half-lidded and full of sleep. When he sees Trip, a giddy smile crosses his lips. “Hey, Trip.”

Trip’s brain short-circuits for a few moments. Once his vocal cords can work again, he stutters out a weak “hi.”

Malcolm moans in content, stretching stiff muscles before using his elbows to prop himself up. He glances around the room, smile fading. “Where are we?”

“My quarters,” Trip says slowly. He eyes Malcolm, unsure what his next moves should be. It’s like playing chess and he’s never been particularly good at chess. At least Malcolm isn’t bolting from the room. “Um. What d’you remember?”

Malcolm turns back to Trip with his head cocked slightly to the left. “Well, I _don’t_ remember how I got here _,_ that’s sure. My head aches something fierce, though. Did you knock me against the wall again? Couldn’t help yourself?” A mischievous smirk appears on his face as his fingers move to dance around Trip’s face.

It takes a few moments for the words to sink in. _Malcolm’s remembering,_ he thinks in awe. _Malcolm- ohmygod, he remembers._

Concerned at the lack of response, Malcolm withdraws his hand and frowns. “Trip? What’s wrong?”

“You remember,” Trip gasps. “Y-you remember… that time I…”

The concern on Malcolm’s face only grows. “I’m sorry, Trip, but I don’t understand your meaning. What am I remembering? Getting slammed into a wall and being assaulted with kisses? It’s kind of hard to forget that. Anyone would think you went on a celibacy kick or something. Speaking of…” Suddenly Malcolm’s hand vanished beneath the blankets, fingertips leaving trails of hot fire burning on Trip’s skin as they move down, down. “I do feel like it has been a while, and as I can’t remember our _activities_ from last night, I would appreciate a reminder.”

Trip’s face burns bright red, his body – more specifically, his lower regions – reacting positively to Malcolm’s touch. And, damn, if it were any other situation Trip would have melted in his lover’s arms.

But he can’t right now. He can’t.

He doesn’t realize he’s spoken the words out loud until Malcolm’s hand abruptly stops and hurt flashes across his features. “Trip? What do you mean, you can’t? It’s still early.”

 _Damn it, now I’ve hurt him._ Trip reaches out and takes Malcolm’s free hand in his, squeezing it reassuringly. “Don’t take me the wrong way, Mal,” he whispers. “It’s kinda hard to explain. Um, let’s get some clothes on and we’ll get ya to Phlox.”

“Why on Earth do you need the doctor?” Malcolm’s pitch has risen in concern. “Trip, please, is there something you can’t tell me? Are you hurt? What really happened last night?”

Something wonderful, it seems, Trip wants to say. “Phlox’ll tell ya all about it,” he promises instead. “But I’d rather not show up naked if it’s all the same ta you. He might ask to observe.”

Malcolm blushes red at the mental image. “No, that would be absolutely dreadful.”

They get dressed in silence. Trip pulls on some pajama pants and a plain T-shirt; Malcolm tugs his uniform back around his shoulders, having nothing else to wear. He’s still clearly very anxious, so Trip tiptoes over to him and plants a kiss on his forehead. “Trust me, Malcolm.”

“I do,” his lover replies, stealing a quick kiss of his own. “With my life.”

“It does seem that Lieutenant Reed is well on the way to a full recovery,” Doctor Phlox announces cheerfully. “Congratulations, Lieutenant.”

Trip’s face nearly splits in half from the wide grin on his lips. Forgetting where he is, he lurches forward and wraps his arms around Malcolm before the smaller man can even struggle his way off the bio-bed. “Welcome back,” he murmurs into his shoulder.

A strangled cough brings him back to his senses. Captain Archer is standing to the side rather awkwardly, while Phlox looks on in curiosity. “It is good to have you back, Malcolm,” says the Captain.

“Thank you, sir,” Malcolm acknowledges. “Erm, I must say that everything’s a little hazy at the moment.”

“As is normal.” Phlox waves a hand dismissively. “Your full memory should come back with time, as well as your memories from your period of amnesia. Is there anything you can remember now, Mr. Reed?”

Malcolm frowns in concentration. “Not really,” he admits finally. “Flashes here and there, some random periods of rather… intense emotions.” His eyes flicker to Trip as he says this, the briefest flash of guilt in them, though Trip has no idea what Malcolm should feel guilty for. “And Hoshi,” Malcolm adds. “Lots of Hoshi, for some reason.”

“She did help you around for a time,” Trip says. He tries not to let the jealousy seep into his tone.

“Ah. I suppose I should thank her, then.”

Silence ensues, interrupted seconds later by Phlox’s cheery statement: “well, Lieutenant, it is of my medical opinion that you be allowed back on duty. Please be mindful of ledges the next time there’s something wrong with the engines, however.”

“Yes, doctor. I’ll try to remember.”

The three officers leave sickbay, Archer disappearing off on his own after giving Malcolm a pat on the shoulder. The intent in leaving them alone is obvious. Trip turns to Malcolm, opening his mouth to say something, but Malcolm beats him to it.

“I am truly sorry for the pain I caused, Trip.”

Mouth still open, Trip freezes; blinks twice. He must look like a goldfish. “Malcolm, what’re you on about?”

Malcolm looks pained to elaborate. “There is indeed very little I can recall, but I’m sure having to see me every day, talk to me every day, while I didn’t remember _us_ would have been quite taxing. And I’m very sorry for it.”

Trip looks at his lover, dumbstruck. “The hell’re you sayin’, Mal? It wasn’t yer fault that hit t’yer head caused amnesia! It wasn’t yer fault you couldn’t remember me, or our relationship.”

“I know,” Malcolm sighs, running a hand across his face, “but I still can’t help feeling…”

“Quit it.” Trip grabs Malcolm’s shoulders and spins him around so they’re face to face. “It hurt like hell, seein’ you look at me like I was just yer superior again, but y’know what? That’s over. Yer back, an’ that’s all I care about. So quit apologizin’ already. There’s much better things you could be doin’ with that mouth.”

 _Whoah, where the hell did_ that _come from?_

“Oh?” Malcolm challenges. The guilty look is quickly replaced with a sly, hungry smile.

“Yeah,” Trip breathes. “An’ I thought maybe, since I’ve been on a goddamn unwanted celibacy kick for the last two weeks, you could remind me.”

“I’d love to,” Malcolm purrs. “Your quarters or mine?”

 _Oh, right._ Trip glances around, suddenly quite aware of where they are and what a public display they’re currently putting on. “Mine are bigger, I guess.”

“Hm. Like something else I know.” Oh, that hand better not be going where he thinks it’s going- _goddamn._ Malcolm laughs at Trip’s expression and pulls his hand away. “Alright, I won’t tease you any longer. Lead the way, love.”

“Gladly,” says Trip, slipping his hand into Malcolm’s.


End file.
